First things first: obligatory reminder that this universe doesn't belong to me. *le sigh*

angstar, thanks! Glad you liked that bit.

zeeksmom, I will go back and fix the grammatical niggle, good catch! Can't promise much in the way of revelations as to the baddies this chapter, but as usual stay tuned.

eliza and Blood Red Gun, glad you are enjoying everything thus far!

caspet, yes, Lucius is in for it here, hehe.

Alesia, I think I was just happy someone was getting the dynamics of the relationships here. Sorry if I was bit effusive! My own fault, I was a bit put off by one reviewer but as they say, you can't please everyone! Yes, the green haired witch is a nasty piece of work. I knew you'd catch that clue, hehe.

Fun fact of the week: the B&B mentioned in this chapter does actually exist. I've never stayed there, but it sounds lovely.

Ok, so this chapter took AGES because it was just damn hard to write and get right. I hope I have the balance now. There is more to come, but frankly it would have been a behemoth chapter so I broke it up, which also gives me time to fine tune the next bit. I hope you all enjoy the final product, and please DO let me know what you think! I love all the feedback! Thank you for reading!


Arthur held a tight grip on the door, not opening it further than necessary.

"I don't believe she cares to speak with you at the moment," Arthur said. "You know, I always knew it would end up this way. Some wizards never learn how to treat others."

"You have no idea what you are talking about. Stand aside." Lucius was tight lipped, holding his temper firmly in check. He wondered how much of this conversation Hermione could overhear—with this rat's nest of a dwelling Merlin only knew how close the sitting room was to the door.

"Did you have anything to do with the attack on my son and Hermione today?" Arthur asked, looking Lucius straight in the eye.

"The last time I checked, you weren't the head of the DMLE. I can assure you, the Aurors won't be knocking on my door to arrest me—instead, they will be continuing to work with me. Even your son, shocking as that might seem to you. Now, I would like to see my wife. Stand aside." His teeth were clenched now, and he was restraining the very great urge to draw his wand and hex both of the Weasleys. He knew that would not be the best course of action in Hermione's view, however, so he refrained, rigidly reasserting control over his baser emotions.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and he said softly, "As if you give a damn about your wife. You never listened to your first wife, and now she's cold in her grave. I won't let you do the same to Hermione through your neglect."

Lucius stepped closer, his eyes flashing dangerously as his voice dropped to a low tone. "I won't disrespect Narcissa's memory by speaking of my feelings for her to you, nor will I disrespect Hermione by doing the same. But Hermione and the child she carries are my family now. Would I ever intentionally hurt my family?"

Lucius could practically see Arthur turning over all of their history together, all the way back to school and their early rows at the Ministry. If the flash in Arthur's eye had been pitying, or accusatory, or in any way belittling, Lucius would have turned on his heel and departed, wife or not. But it was a curious blend of grudging respect and innate optimism, Lucius supposed, as Arthur slowly opened the door and said, "I'll take you to speak with her then. But if she says you go, you're out, am I clear?"

Lucius knew the wards on the Burrow were at least capable of throwing him out for a time, so he nodded curtly and let Arthur lead him through the cramped warren of a house. It was a short journey, which probably meant that Hermione and Molly Weasley had heard every word. The Weasley matriarch showed no sign of budging from her place next to Hermione on the couch, so Lucius decided to deal with that problem first.

"How kind of you to invite me into your home," Lucius said smoothly with patent insincerity. "Perhaps a cup of tea?" His eyebrow rose and his eyes moved meaningfully to the teapot and half empty cups. "I would like to talk to my wife, in private."

Molly murmured something in Hermione's ear, while Arthur stood with his arms crossed across his chest. "Remember what I said, Lucius," he felt compelled to say before he escorted Molly the twenty odd steps to what must be the kitchen. At least there was a partial wall blocking the view, but privacy was apparently not to be had. Hermione simply stared at him, and Lucius tried not to be annoyed when she flinched her gaze away from him as he sat on the couch. Draco had not had much time to tell him all that had happened in his absence, but he had told Lucius that Hermione thought she had seen him Whimsic Alley today. Irrespective of whatever she had been up to in his absence, Lucius knew he had to address this point immediately.

"Hermione, I have only just returned from France. I sincerely hope you would not misjudge me such that you believe me connected in any fashion to the traumatic attack you experienced today," he began, but Hermione interrupted him, her stony expression cracking to reveal a passionate anger and fatigue.

"How dare you accuse me of misjudging you? I saw, Lucius! I saw you there! And you did nothing!" Hermione was yelling, not caring about who heard her. "You and your slimy cousin Bertrand, scurrying around! We followed you, right into a trap!" She stood up, her fists clenched by her sides as she warred with the impulse to strike him.

"Whatever you think you saw, witch, it was NOT. ME! Now, are you going to sit down and listen to me, or am I going to stupefy you and drag you home?" Lucius' voice was like a silent whip, the crack of his threat at the end infuriating Hermione even more, her emotions shuddering through her.

"You wouldn't dare," she hissed, and Lucius stood and went nose to nose with her.

"Try me."

It was a staring contest, a battle of wills for a few seconds, Hermione's charged caramel brown fiercely locked with Lucius' swirling mercury.

"Are you going to tell me you haven't been keeping company with your cousin Bertrand?"

Shit.

"Yes, I have, but IN FRANCE," Lucius began, but Hermione raised her hand to slap him. His reflexes were still honed, and he caught her hand before it could make contact, holding her wrist firmly and hoping he wasn't bruising her.

"Sit. Down. Before I hex those two taking all this in from the doorway and carry you home. Since you want an audience for our little domestic, you will have one, for now," Lucius snarled quietly, losing control of his temper a little bit.

The fog of anger and hurt began to clear a little bit from her brain, and Hermione saw Molly and Arthur standing goggle-eyed in the doorway, Arthur's hand inching toward his wand. Her gaze darted back to her husband, who was clearly struggling mightily with his temper.

"Everything okay, Hermione?" Arthur asked suspiciously, and Hermione dropped her hand, suddenly ashamed of herself for trying to hit Lucius, bright spots of color blooming in her cheeks. Lucius let her hand drop, hoping that perhaps he wouldn't have to use his wand and make this situation any messier than it already was.

"I'm fine, thank you. I just—need to talk to Lucius," Hermione said, tight-lipped. Molly and Arthur exchanged a glance, and Molly sent the fresh tea in with her wand.

"We'll be in the kitchen if you need us, dearie," Molly said, dragging a reluctant Arthur away from the tense couple in their living room.

"I'm sorry I tried to hit you, even if you are an insufferable…arrogant, deceitful…uncaring, high-handed, ignorant, ASS!" Hermione shouted the last, tears finally rolling down her cheeks.

"A high-handed ass who is almost to the bottom of the plot to injure you and the Ministry," Lucius retorted angrily, sitting down warily as Hermione sat back down, her back as straight as possible.

"I saw you, Lucius. You and your cousin Bertrand. I was so mad at you for not communicating with me while you were gone—and to find out you had sent Harry and Draco owls this morning, it was the last straw." Her voice was quiet but at least the tears were lessening. Lucius offered his handkerchief, which she took and clutched in her hands, but didn't use, he noticed.

"Tell me what you saw today. I want you to go through your memory very carefully. If we had a pensieve I would do it with you—unless you're ready to go home now?"

Hermione shook her head, and Lucius bit back an instinctive hurtful reply about distrust in general and focused on the objective. "Fine. Just think through it, please. Does anything stand out to you?"

"We were walking toward Whimsic Alley. Ron wanted to find a gift for Lavender. It was snowing and windy. I thought I saw you, I moved faster to get a better look. The wind was causing your hair to dance around…" she stopped and Lucius felt the vicious glimmer of vindication.

"And?" Lucius prodded, satisfaction writ large on his face.

"You haven't worn your hair down in months," Hermione said, really looking at him for the first time since he'd arrived.

"Yes, dear wife. Which means you saw a polyjuiced impersonator," Lucius said.

Hermione felt horribly guilty for missing such an obvious clue, and her sense of honor compelled her to apologize for it. "I'm sorry, Lucius. My mind was elsewhere, and when I thought I saw you, I was just so mad because you hadn't communicated with me! I followed without thinking—who could have had access to your hair? You've been so careful for so long now…"

"In point of fact, I have good reason to suspect exactly who that is, but that is beside the immediate point. Now, if you don't mind, I would prefer to continue our private discussion at home."

"You mean back to my prison," Hermione said bitterly, her anger flaring again as she processed the fact that he offered neither apology nor explanation for keeping her in the dark. "You'd prefer it if I stayed in an unbreakable bubble charm, vessel to your child and slave to your wishes, never asking why or what you are up to."

She knew it was unfair, and also untrue, but Hermione's emotions were running out of control. When she raised her eyes to look at him again, the look on his face was one of controlled violence, and Hermione was aware in part of her that she had again stirred the Death Eater, that vicious part of himself that Lucius kept in such tight control.

"You will listen to me now, Hermione. Never in my life have I been so tempted to put the Imperius on you. You are being unreasonable and immature, and I refuse to continue talking to you in this…nest of a dwelling. I have been skulking around shady corners of France for over a week, dodged Dolohov and his minions to unravel the shady other members of their little club, been schooled yet again by my aunt, and come home to find you again entangled in innumerable brushes with disaster. I've only heard about today and briefly glanced at the Prophet's smear of your work, and if I find out you've been up to anything else, I believe I may reinstitute the use of the dungeons at the Manor, with or without Kingsley's blessing!" Lucius paused as he saw a miniscule twitch in Hermione's cheek, and his jaw tightened. So, there is something else. He continued, "Obviously there are more than a few things we need to discuss, but it will be in the privacy of our home, without a hovering audience!"

At this Lucius pulled his wand and zapped the extendable ear that was nearly hidden under the pile of cushions on the armchair, the suddenness of the move startling Hermione into drawing her own wand in case he was serious about the Imperius curse. Lucius' eyebrow rose and he pointedly stood, offering his hand. "Now, Hermione, if you please, let's Floo home so we may continue to berate each other in private?"

Hermione realized that Lucius' patience was at an end, and the fact that he still had his wand out was a testament to his gritty need to escape Molly and Arthur's well-intentioned but, she admitted, unnecessary prying. Subconsciously not wanting to cede the mix of anger, resentment, and worry that had been fueling her, Hermione simply said, "I'm tired," and placed her hand in Lucius', allowing him to help her up from the admittedly saggy couch.

He noticed a twinge of pain flit across her face, and he asked, "You weren't hurt today, were you? They did check you at Mungo's—Draco checked you over?"

"Yes, I was checked, and the baby and I are both fine." Lucius was about to ask further questions when the sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention.

"Hermione?"

Both of them looked back to the doorway, where Arthur was eying them uncertainly, Molly hovering behind. "Everything alright dear?" she asked from over Arthur's shoulder.

Hermione saw the muscle in Lucius' temple tick, and knew he was out of patience. "Yes, thank you Molly, Arthur. We're just going home. I'll speak with you soon."

"Of course dear." Really, there was nothing else Molly could say, and at least she had the grace to feel somewhat ashamed for eavesdropping, although she didn't let it show on her face.

"Be careful of yourself, Hermione," Arthur called out after them, causing Lucius to say with a bit more viciousness than intended, "Malfoy Manor!" as he threw a larger than necessary handful of Floo powder into the flames, then stepped in with Hermione.


A jolt and sideways lurch as they traveled had Lucius cursing under his breath, and his grip on Hermione tightened as they were thrust out an unfamiliar fireplace.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"My mistake. I blocked the Floo at the Manor to the Weasley home long ago," Lucius replied quickly, his wand out. While their surroundings were obviously wizard in nature, it was not clear exactly where they were. There was no pot of Floo powder, and before Lucius made the decision to apparate them home, a middle-aged auburn haired witch appeared in the doorway with a pot of Floo powder.

"Oh, I wondered who that was. You won't be needing that, I assure you," the witch said, gesturing toward Lucius' wand with the pot of Floo powder. "You are welcome to leave at any time, although of course you need this at the moment, else you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said in disbelief, unconsciously adopting her husband's hauteur. The woman was a strange creature, her deep purple robes bedecked with stars and astrological symbols, her hair an odd mix of dreadlocks and curls.

"This is a House of Refuge—Bloomfield House, to be precise. A temporary refuge for wizards and witches in need of clarity on their journey." She cocked her head and studied them. "Dark and light, hard and soft. Yes, your need called you here."

Her voice had taken an odd lilt, and Lucius suppressed a groan. "A Seer."

The woman brightened and smiled. "Oh, you are quick. I do like that in my guests."

"Are those radish earrings?" Hermione asked, slightly incredulous. "They look just like ones worn by a friend of mine."

"Dirigible plums, dear. Luna Lovegood, perchance? Her father Xenophilius is a wonderful friend of mine. They keep the Wrackspurts away, you know. Hmmm, your head is full of Wrackspurts…" the witch turned her gaze toward Lucius, but apparently thought the better of commenting on his mental state.

"Please," Hermione said holding up a hand to silence the witch. "Lucius, are we going or staying?"

"What established the protections on this house?" Lucius demanded to know, his wand still at the ready.

The witch looked surprised. "Why, the ley line from Salisbury, of course! Bloomfield House only dates to the Georgian era, but this structure was merely a replacement for an older refuge that dates back to the time of the Druids."

"Where are we?" Lucius asked, his posture relaxing slightly.

"Near Bath. Muggles think this is a regular bed and breakfast, but they are never able to stay here, of course," the witch chuckled as if at a private joke. "Now, I really must know so I can have the bed turned down. Going or staying?"

Lucius took in Hermione's drawn face and asked the proprietess, "Do you have an owl I may use?"

The witch beamed. "Of course. I'll just put this here, but of course you won't be needing it now—not that it matters, I shan't see you again during your stay. That's the whole point of a House of Refuge—absolute privacy and safety. The room will provide what you need. Enjoy the respite, dearies—you need it!"

Lucius could feel a headache coming on. "Well, let's go up then," he said irritably to Hermione as the odd witch swept from the room. Hermione turned a quizzical eye to her husband, one hand on her lower back.

"Not to quibble, but why are you acquiescing to this so readily? You don't mean to tell me you think the wards on this house are sufficient for your taste?"

"I thought you wanted an escape from your prison," Lucius said, then held out his hand, his face suddenly showing his tiredness. "Please."

Wordlessly Hermione gave him her hand, and he escorted her up the elliptical staircase. Before Hermione could ask how they would know which room would be theirs, a paneled door opened a bit further down a short hallway, and inside an owl was visible in the dim light, waiting impatiently on the window ledge outside.

"I'll send a note to Draco," Lucius said stiffly, and Hermione didn't bother to reply. Instead she lit the wall sconces with her wand and took in the room. It had a king sized, canopied bed, what appeared to be an antique writing desk, Hepplewhite side tables, and comfortable armchairs and a chaise near a fireplace that she had roaring comfortably in short order. Lucius finished scribbling his short note to Draco, attached it to the leg of the owl, then sent it off in the sleet and closed the window, scourgifying the mess on the carpet from the weather. He turned as Hermione came back from her brief exploration of the bathroom. She stood, limned in the light from the bathroom, and Lucius felt the weight of his Ministry vow and the disquiet between them. Could nothing be easy?

"Dinner?" Lucius asked, and Hermione nodded.

It was probable that the lamb, parsnips, and asparagus were perfectly prepared. The only place suitable for eating was by the fireplace, a small table and chairs apparently placed nearby for that purpose. However, the silence was leaden, burdened with the expectations of continued argument and hurt feelings on both sides. It made the meal incredibly uncomfortable despite the extreme, almost painful comfort of their temporary 'refuge'.

Finally, after they had finished what little they wanted to eat, and Hermione was pretending to drink tea while Lucius was pretending to drink brandy, Hermione finally spoke for the first time in nearly an hour.

"I wasn't aware that Houses of Refuge still existed. They aren't much talked of nowadays, and I was under the impression that they were something of a myth from the last great wizarding war."

"Those who serve as curators, for lack of a better term, foster that perception deliberately. They are meant to be used sporadically, and I expect that if many wizards knew of them and their locations, their doors would have been beaten down during the last two, how shall I put this, lesser wars in Britain, although doubtless there were those who hid in them during particularly nasty points." Lucius then did take a decent portion of brandy into his mouth, but he couldn't enjoy it.

Right, let's get down to it then, he thought. Setting down the snifter and mentally girding himself for whatever was going to come out of his wife's mouth, Lucius asked, "Could you please explain to me why you were at St. Mungo's today?"

"I was visiting someone who was injured recently. Perhaps you remember her—Dr. Frederica Hayes?" Hermione's voice was cool, but her barb did not go unnoticed.

Lucius' eyes flashed. "What the devil is that woman doing in Britain?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I think the better question is what the devil were you doing visiting her without me?" Hermione retorted furiously.

"Answer my question, wife! How is that Muggle researcher in the United Kingdom?" Lucius knew, just knew he was not going to like his wife's answer.

Hermione set her teacup down with a bit too much vehemence, the still hot liquid sloshing onto her hand and causing her temporary pain. "I went to see her myself! Because you didn't see fit to tell me that you'd already been, or better yet, take me with you! How DARE you, Lucius! I needed to talk to her, face to face, and you went behind my back!"

"And you went off behind my back as well," Lucius shot back. "And you still haven't told me how she comes to be in St. Mungo's, injured. Explain. Now."

Hermione forced herself to look him in the eye. "There was an attack while I was there. I believe they were trying to kidnap her. It was Dolohov. He hit her with a curse before I portkeyed us both back to the Manor, and Draco was able to stabilize her so we could take her to Mungo's."

"And what is her prognosis?" Lucius asked in a very quiet voice, the only visible sign that he was very angry.

"She will be fine, but she lost her baby," Hermione said quietly, not able to look at him while saying it. She stole a glance at him just as he erupted.

"Are you saying that Antonin Dolohov sent a curse deliberately designed to kill an in-utero baby at a Muggle?"

"I don't know who he was aiming at, it flew past me and hit her—" Hermione stopped with a gasp as Lucius was suddenly out of his chair, his hands gripping the arms of her chair and looming over her.

"Do you mean to tell me you were unprotected, in front of this Muggle, with Dolohov throwing curses?" He was yelling now, and Hermione pushed him back and stood as well.

"We both know it's impossible to be perfectly hidden in the middle of a BLOODY BATTLE Lucius! And YES, I was protecting her, AND myself, and that is why I portkeyed us both away from there, otherwise—"

"YOU COULD HAVE BLOODY DIED! YOU COULD HAVE LOST OUR BABY!"

"None of this would have happened if you had just been honest with me and let me go with you!" Hermione shouted back, her chest heaving. She felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, and angrily wiped them away. Lucius watched her do it, then unexpectedly he pulled her roughly into his arms.

"Sweet Salazar, witch, do not EVER do that again! I don't care if someone is about to Avada me, for Circe's sake keep yourself safe," he said roughly against her hair, curling her into himself as much as possible. The damn tears Hermione had been attempting to keep at bay overwhelmed her, and she sobbed into Lucius' chest.

"I was scared, Lucius. It was all too close—and you weren't there, for all of it, you wouldn't tell me where you were or what you were doing—"

Lucius couldn't find the right words, memories of Narcissa's death flooding him. He could imagine the curse leaving Dolohov's wand, could see how easily it could have hit her, hit their child…he shuddered, closing his eyes as if to banish the image.

"Hermione," Lucius began to say, but Hermione continued, the words tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of her mind, "I am sick of being kept in the dark about what you're doing, of being treated as an afterthought in your life, of being expected to stop everything I'm doing, everything I am because I am pregnant and my work is highly controversial. I feel as if everyone wants to wrap me up in cotton wool and keep me packed away safely in a box until this baby is born and all of the nastiness at work is dealt with by others. And I simply cannot tolerate being treated as if I'm incompetent, or stupid, or some Stepford wife who will do your or your proxy's bidding with meek complacency!"

She lifted her face to his as she spoke, earnestness writ large across her features. He allowed her to pull back a bit, and as she shifted on the balls of her feet he noticed a flicker of pain cross her face again. He released her and rubbed his face in his hands, then took her hand. "Come to bed. You're in pain and tired. I want to be comfortable since we are apparently having an extended row."

"Really, Lucius?" Hermione said with a hint of disbelief, but Lucius noticed she made no further objection as they donned the pajamas that had appeared and performed their evening ablutions.

If there was one thing the wars had taught Lucius, it was the value of patience. Hermione had unloaded quite a few emotional burdens, and it would take patience to unravel them before he could even begin to tell her of his own…concerns. He was intelligent enough to recognize that she was not in a state to actually hear him. Crossing to the bed, he sat with his back and against the headboard and his legs spread wide.

"Come, sit," he said gruffly, his body aware of how long it had been since he'd enjoyed his wife's full company. That is not the point now, he told himself sternly, and he patted the bed between his legs. "Where are you uncomfortable?"

"We are going to continue our discussion, are we not?" Hermione prodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, o stubborn one," Lucius said, reaching forward to pull her back by her hips, helping her onto the bed. "But I won't see you flinch in pain again if I can help it. Lean forward just a little bit."

"My hips hurt. And the ligaments—the healer said it was round ligament pain," Hermione said, then chuffed under her breath as Lucius began to gently rub her shoulders, then the knot that habitually formed between her shoulder blades. "Oh that's nice…"

"Good," Lucius said, then whispered, "Calefacto," and Hermione felt his hands warm up a bit as he moved down and pressed his thumbs in at her hips, his hands wrapping around to stroke and relax. He could feel her frustration ebbing away, and he sighed deeply.

"I did not keep you in the dark deliberately, Hermione. I want you to know that because it's important that you trust me. It wounds me to think that you don't." His voice was soft in her ear and he could feel her tense up again with his last statement, but he gently caressed her swollen stomach and continued. "This child trusts me implicitly. He knows my voice and when he is born, he will trust me to take care of him. You have to understand Hermione, Narcissa was a wonderful woman and a brilliant wife and mother, but she was never a frontline fighter. She would stand up for what she really loved, like Draco, but for everything else, she depended on me to guide our family through. And now she is gone, and I have you, my spirited young wife. And you are a frontline fighter. You want to wade in and make it right, tackle the problem with your intellect and reasoning, and when that fails use your sheer bravado and bravery to get you through. And frankly, my darling, that scares the ever loving shit out of me; because I have seen so many others, braver even than you—and they fell. And I could not bear it if it were you, or our child."

"Lucius, I would never take unnecessary risks," Hermione said, tilting her head to look at him.

"I think our definitions of 'unnecessary' are very different, witch," he said, the soft actions of his hands belying the sting of the implied rebuke.

"Yes, they are, as long as you try to fix things without my input and without my help! I am not like Narcissa, Lucius—I do not want you to lead the way, I want to be part of the team solving the problem, finding the missing pieces. I'm good at it, it's part of my nature. And at every turn you have withheld information, or parceled it out in little bits to appease me instead of really bringing me to a full understanding of what you're doing. That's not trust, Lucius, it's condescension. I need you to tell me what you're trying to accomplish. Otherwise we are working at cross-purposes, such as the interview of Frederica Hayes."

Lucius' brow wrinkled and he took a deep breath. How to make her understand? Lucius pushed her away gently, tilting her shoulders so she shifted her body such that they were sitting at a close diagonal to each other and could look at each other's faces. "I will achieve freedom for the first time in nearly twenty-five years, Hermione. Finally there is a chance to get rid of the Ministry from our lives with one fell swoop—this child," he placed his hand firmly on her belly, "and the asinine, insane fools who call themselves 'Watchers' and threaten you. No overlord able to call forth service, and the right to tell them off if they dare—why would I not fight tooth and nail, with every contrivance and slippery trick, to achieve that freedom? Is it not worth irritation, and hardship? I don't mind any of that, I will gladly pay the price, but don't tell me that you deserve to bear the burden, Hermione. I won't stand for it."

"But I'm part of your family, Lucius! And this is the future we gift to this little one—is that not worthy of my effort, of some burden-bearing? Draco had the cheek to lecture me on what it meant to be a part of the great Malfoy family—well I already know what it means to be a part of a family, Lucius. It means you put your family ahead of yourself, and you do whatever it takes to protect your family. I Obliviated my own parents to protect them, I can assure you, I know the price!" Hermione paused as tears swelled briefly in her eyes, but she refused to allow her emotions to swamp her again. "All I want, all I really need is for you to talk to me. It really is that simple."

Lucius' eyes were almost back to clear grey, his anger having evaporated and his emotions calming. "You are clever enough to have worked out what I cannot talk to you about, witch."

Hermione sighed and twisted slightly at the waist, another grimace of discomfort crossing her features as she tried to find a comfortable position. "Yes, the unbreakable vow. I would have to be a dunce not to have that worked out, Lucius. I do find it more than a little disappointing that Harry chose not to tell me about it, merely dance around it."

"Lie down," Lucius ordered, then recommenced rubbing low around her belly. "We need some massage oil…" he paused and summoned the small bottle that appeared on the bedside table to his hands, applying some to his hands to warm it before applying them again to her skin. "Yes, he is becoming quite the Ministry pet. He'll be promoted for it shortly, I'm sure."

Hermione returned his smirk with a deadpan look of her own, but Lucius wasn't fazed. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Hermione said nothing, merely let his hands continue their massage. The baby had worked its foot or hand, she couldn't tell which, right above her hip, and was pushing back on Lucius' hand with each pass.

"Apparently the insolent bugger wants me to remove my hands from you. Not even born yet and already he wants all of your attention," Lucius quipped, leaning down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the skin stretched over the little blighter's appendage.

"He OR she, it's a very inconsiderate child. I can't sleep through the night without needing to pee at least twice," Hermione said, watching Lucius place another wet kiss on her belly, her pajama top now worked up to bare her entire belly. He looked at her, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "You cannot make me believe you find me attractive. I look like a beached porpoise."

Lucius let his hands creep upward so that they were cupping her breasts gently. "Your body is lush and ripe with my child. You are perfection in feminine form, an absolute goddess of temptation. O Hera, wilt thou let me worship at your altar?"

"Get off me, you swine!" Hermione said with a laugh, and Lucius' eyes twinkled as he dipped his head and lavished attention with his tongue on her breast. Hermione's laughs soon changed to something else, and Lucius suckled hard on her nipple before he allowed it to pop out of his mouth, taking a moment to appreciate its dusky color.

"Delicious," he said, and began to insistently tug with his mouth on the other.

"Ow, that's too rough," Hermione protested, and Lucius soothed it with his tongue, then informed her, "I'm merely ensuring they are ready for the little fellow. He won't be as gentle as I!"

"Well you won't taste them again when they're 'in service', will you?" Hermione retorted, feeling a pleasant ache below her belly for a change.

"Oh, I don't know—I've always liked the taste of mother's milk," Lucius said naughtily, then stole a few languid, tongue lashing kisses before Hermione could tell him how shocked she was. He then made sure to sample her other delicate flavors, much to the moaned delight of his wife, who came quite beautifully with an abundance of lubrication that he soon put to good use.

"Oh god, it's too much! Lucius!" she moaned as he gripped her bum tightly, changing the angle of his penetration, just a bit deeper. "We're still arguing!"

"Consider this...the intermission. You're just—so beautiful!" Lucius said, feeling her body tightening again as he sweetly hit that one spot that made Hermione see stars and cry out his name in bliss. His own climax rushed through him and out of him, her body shamelessly milking him for every drop of his seed. He disengaged himself after a minute, then wordlessly scourgified them both, allowing Hermione to scooch back until he was spooned around her, his left arm draped over her ribcage, snug beneath her breasts. The air was somewhat clearer between them, but they were both spent in more ways than one. However, he didn't miss her softly whispered parting shot.

"I'm not done arguing with you," she whispered sleepily.

"We will pick right up in the morning," Lucius agreed, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her jaw.

"I've missed that," she said drowsily, pressing herself more firmly against him.

"What was that, witch?" Lucius asked, amused.

"Your hair tickling my shoulder. It's nice," Hermione said softly.

Lucius chuckled. "Good night, wife."